


Stereoscopic

by tellthemstories



Series: Ultraviolet [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Homesickness, M/M, Multimedia Content, Pining, Pre-Slash, UST, open your eyes Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellthemstories/pseuds/tellthemstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had never imagined missing his friends as much as he does, a visceral hole in his chest when he turns to say something to one of them and finds only blank space, but then he’s not been without Combeferre and Courfeyrac since they were seven and had joined forces to fight injustice, rallying together for a common cause.  </p><p>(Or: Enjolras takes a year-long internship and the Amis send him videos of their lives in his absence.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stereoscopic

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multimedia fic, meaning there are links throughout. For the purposes of this story, my facecasts of the Amis are [these](http://i42.tinypic.com/2akaalh.png). If these facecasts conflict with your own, feel free to disregard the links and imagine your own video clips. 
> 
> Optional Soundtrack (which I listened to whilst writing, and is frankly amazing even if you don't read): [Permits-tu](http://8tracks.com/cosmotastic/permits-tu)

**Stereoscopic**

_adjective_  
1\. noting or pertaining to three-dimensional vision or any of various processes and devices for giving the illusion of depth from two-dimensional images or reproductions, as of a photograph or motion picture. 

 

 

“Enjolras!”

The picture is grainy and the camera is shaky, but Enjolras can still make out Courfeyrac’s beaming face in what looks to be the Musain. “You better be actually watching this,” his friend orders, and he’s treated to an alarming close-up and what he assumes is supposed to be a threatening glare, “ _Not_ working on something and pretending to listen. I spent ages learning how to work this thing! Didn’t I, Jehan?”

The camera shifts suddenly to show a quick glimpse of Jehan, who smiles and waves, before the screen is again focused in on Courfeyrac, who apparently can’t keep the camera off himself for more than a few seconds. “Okay Enjolras, I’m giving you ten seconds to drop everything and focus on me. Ten - nine - eight - ”

Enjolras had been considering finishing off a proposal for housing in Malawi, but as Courfeyrac continues his countdown he puts the files to one side and moves to his bed with the laptop. Well, the plastic mat and sleeping bag he’s currently using as a bed, anyway. He’d arrived in the Angkor Thom District early enough on the first day to get a decent space in the hut they were all sleeping in, but it’s not exactly five star accommodation. He did manage to get a spot near the wall, however, and so he’s able to lean back against it and rest his laptop on his knees as he puts his earphones in and Courfeyrac’s countdown reaches one.

Initially, they had intended to keep in touch over the duration of his internship via Skype, but what little internet connection Enjolras managed to find in Siem Reap was sketchy at best and the phone reception was even worse. They couldn’t even resort to sending letters, as the hut he was currently lodging in with some of the other volunteers was in the middle of nowhere, so his two best friends had put their heads together and come up with something else: videologs. They were mostly Combeferre’s idea, with a little help from Courf in the form of relentless and seemingly inexhaustible determination, even if they didn’t have a video camera at the time.

Now, whenever he manages to find a half-decent internet connection, the first thing Enjolras does is scan his email for messages from his friends and download the videos that are attached, saving them to his harddrive to view when he gets some time in between volunteering, shadowing the local director and researching issues to inform action for later campaigns and initiatives.

This is the first one that he’s had time to view since arriving in Cambodia two weeks ago, and it makes him smile in the darkness of the room.  

“By the time you get this - by which I mean, by the time you actually bother to watch it - I’m guessing you’re about two weeks into the internship and already changing the lives of everyone around you. In your absence, we have all somehow managed to survive, surprise!”

Courfeyrac turns the camera to show the rest of the Musain and Enjolras finds himself leaning closer as he picks out the familiar faces around the room, his lips curving into a smile. Jehan, Marius and Combeferre are at the same table as Courfeyrac, along with a dark-haired girl Enjolras has never really known that well, a friend of Marius's who tends to spend the meetings being his sullen shadow when she's not exchanging bawdy jokes with Grantaire, who he can now see at his usual table at the back with Joly and Bossuet. Not being able to control where the camera is pointing is disorienting, and his eyes try to latch onto things that don't quite focus before the frame is suddenly taken up by Bahorel's huge figure.

"The fuck you doing?"

"We're sending Enjolras a video!" Courfeyrac announces, "Do you have anything you want to say?"

The camera changes hands, the image on screen flipping around and going fuzzy before finally righting itself on an intense close-up of Bahorel's forehead. "Yeah," he says, "Sorry you went hundreds of miles away and still have to listen to this idiot." Courfeyrac makes an indignant sound and Combeferre chuckles off-screen. The camera wobbles again, treating him to a panoramic view of Bahorel's jaw, and he feels faintly ill, as if he has motion sickness.

He makes a mental note to tell them never to let Bahorel hold the camera again.

Feuilly is just visible walking through the door to the Musain for a few seconds as Courfeyrac wrestles the camera back and says, “Don’t listen to him. This is the best idea in the existence of ideas, he's just jealous he didn't come up with it first." (Bahorel's snort says otherwise.) "Combeferre’s going to make a schedule for the camera so you get to see everyone. Of course my videos will be the best, but I’m in such high demand I can’t _possibly_ video myself all the time. Though actually, that sounds awesome, I could make it into a web series. The Courfeyrac Show, the life and times of a Parisian stu- no, a _dashing_ Parisian student—”

This looks set to take a while. Enjolras sets the laptop down to one side but leaves the earphones in as he picks up the Malawi housing proposal, finding himself oddly comforted by Courfeyrac’s familiar dulcet tones babbling away ridiculously in his ear.

\- - -

After the first one, the videos settle into something of a routine. Each of his friend has their own preferred way of setting up their videos, depending on what they want to say and how much free time they have between lectures, volunteering, part-time jobs and the club. Some are just short clips (a bellowed ‘HAPPY ONE MONTH INTERNSHIP’ from Courfeyrac, a poem recital from Jehan), others are longer but they are each, in their own way, infinitely personal.

Jehan’s first full log takes him on a tour of Paris, visiting all their favourite spots, and Enjolras feels a twist of homesickness in his chest. He starts on the love lock bridge, a place where Jehan goes to get inspiration when he needs something to write about.  He picks a couple, writes down their names and then comes up with an elaborate backstory for why they attached the lock, then breathes life into it by writing poems that make his literature professors cry.

Enjolras will never understand art.

Jehan walks across the Pont Alexandre III, taking time to show every angle from the camera, focusing in on the little things like a couple walking their puppy or a scratch of graffiti on a railing.  He takes his time strolling down the cobbled street of the Cours Damoye, where Enjolras can almost smell the freshly brewed coffee, dark and smooth as it mixes with the warmth of freshly baked pastries. He heads past the Shakespeare bookshop and the green where a group of old men are playing pentanque in the early morning, before tourists clog up the street and whilst the sun is only peeking through the leaves on the trees.

The camera travels with him to the Promenade Plantee, an elevated park above the Viaduc des Arts where he once took them all for a picnic, before the video moves on to the Jardin des Tuileries, Jehan standing by the pond and allowing him to see the Arc du Carousel and the Louvre, the Arc du Triomphe and the Musee D'Orsay, with the Place de Concorde behind as day fades into night. The video eventually ends with a walk by the Seine, streetlamps reflected in the water, catching and scattering the light of the stars above.

In short, it’s a love letter to Paris.

It's true that you don't know what you had until it’s gone, Enjolras realises. He has always loved Paris, can't imagine himself living in any other city in the world, but he’s always taken these things for granted. He resolves to spend more time just enjoying Paris for being itself, when he returns.

\- - -

Combeferre takes the time to find somewhere quiet where he can talk freely for his first real video. He appears to be in one of the private rooms in the university library, and he’s been able to set the camera so the recording is smooth, with none of the jerks or bumps that came with Courfeyrac’s.

He looks tired and stressed, but his eyes are warm and his smile is soft. There’s a tower of textbooks and pads of notes next to him, along with several empty coffee cups, the signs of several hours spent studying even though its only the start of the first semester. The trials and tribulations of a medical student.

“Hi, Enjolras,” he says and it’s - god, it’s _good_ to hear his voice.

Enjolras had never imagined missing his friends as much as he does, a visceral hole in his chest when he turns to say something to one of them and finds only blank space, but then he’s not been without Combeferre and Courfeyrac since they were seven and had joined forces to fight injustice, rallying together for a common cause.

It had been a rainy, nondescript summer’s afternoon when Enjolras had verbally pummeled a boy four years his senior for kicking kids off the bouncy castle, including a wide-eyed and timid Combeferre. Enjolras had duly informed the bully that no one could _own_ a bouncy castle, that fun was something everyone was entitled to - and had received a punch to his face for his efforts. At which point Courfeyrac had come flying in from somewhere yelling, “For freedom!” and flung himself at the startled bully.

Combeferre and Enjolras had both looked at each other and then, with wordless agreement, jumped into the fray with Courfeyrac, fists flying, even though at that age they were all angles and elbows and milk teeth. They’d all been kicked out not too long after, banned from returning due to violent conduct in an area of fun (his parents had been horrified) and they’d been fast friends ever since.

The wordless understanding he and Combeferre had reached on that day had only grown over the years, infuriating their parents and friends to no end when they’re able to hold entire conversations without speaking. It’s to this habit Combeferre falls now, arching an eyebrow at the camera in such a way that Enjolras knows means he thinks he’s not eating or sleeping enough.

(Which he's not, but that's not the point. There are _things_ to be done, lives to be saved, habitats to build.)

Sleeping has never been a necessity for Enjolras, just an unfortunate requirement of living. He’s survived on far less than the recommended seven hours a day for years without ill-effects. None of this matters to Combeferre, of course, who just continues to stare at the screen, unflinching and irritatingly calm.

“Alright, fine,” Enjolras relents, glaring at his laptop screen, “I’ll try and fit in more than three hours sleep. Anyway, how is—”

“The group is doing fine,” Combeferre assures him, his posture relaxing as he leans back in his chair, “The plans for the rally are well under way. Feuilly’s been helping Grantaire with the posters and Bahorel was able to get someone to cover his shift, so he’ll be there if things turn violent. Courf and I will be doing the speeches. I thought about emailing them to you, but by the time you're able to access them..."

 _It'd be too late for his input to matter_ , Enjolras finishes, and looks down at his hands where they rest on the laptop. They are stained with dust and mud, dirt caught under his nails. He's been schooling himself to accept that this is how things are going to be for the next year; that he’s not at the head of their student group and has to trust that in his absence, things will be just fine, but it’s hard.

His natural inclination to lead and instruct curls low in his stomach, like a cat flexing its claws, and he frowns. “We’re going to be fine,” says Combeferre, reading him and reassuring, “Make the most of your time there, don’t worry about us.”

\- - -

“I know what you’re thinking,” Joly opens his videolog, “It’s supposed to be Bossuet’s turn.  Well, let’s just say there was an accident and he’s never being allowed near electrical equipment ever again.”  

There’s a noise of protest from somewhere off to the right of the camera and it pans around to show Bossuet, with his left arm in a sling and a bruise darkening his right eye. He’s still grinning, however, and he offers a wave with his good hand.

“Are you taking your malaria tablets?” Joly demands, Bossuet rolls his eyes. “Remember not to drink the water. There are a lot of diseases out there and the healthcare isn't anywhere near what it should be. You need to be careful, even if you've had your shots and—”

“He's going to be fine,” Bossuet interrupts him. "This is Enjolras, after all, he never leaves anything to chance. He will have planned everything out meticulously, including his vaccinations. Didn't you?" He leaves the question hanging and then says, "This is weird, talking to a camera as if it’s him."

"There's one good thing about it, though," Joly points out, and Enjolras can hear the grin in his voice. It makes his eyes narrow in response.

"Oh?"

"He can't reply."

Bossuet laughs and the camera wobbles as he slaps a hand on Joly's shoulder. "Too right! Oh, the fun we can have with this. Hey, Enjolras, am I your favourite person in the world? Say nothing if your answer is yes."

"No," says Enjolras.

"Ha, I thought so!" crows Bossuet into the ensuing silence, with the tone of someone who is obviously very impressed with themself, and Enjolras wonders how the hell he ended up with these guys as his friends. He can't believe they're amused by such simple things; the next ten minutes of their fifteen minute video is just Joly and Bossuet asking him questions he can't answer, sniggering to themselves as Enjolras rolls his eyes.

He’d like to say he’s surprised his friends are this immature, but really he’s just surprised Courfeyrac didn’t think of this first. Still, he finds himself smiling fondly as he watches the video out of the corner of his eye as he types up the final pages of the next school proposal - until he realises what he’s doing and glares at himself. He is working, this internship is serious, he can’t be caught smiling over his friends acting like five-year-olds.

(He saves the video to watch again whenever he starts getting too stressed about the little things and needs something to cheer him up. He is only human, after all.

Don’t tell Grantaire.)

\- - -

Courfeyrac is grinning when his next video loads up. In the back of the shot Enjolras can just about make out Bahorel, Bossuet, Joly and Grantaire engaged in a fierce game of cards, something to do with shouting swear words as loudly and enthusiastically as possible.

"I have had a wonderful idea!" Courfeyrac announces.

"BULLSHIT!"

Courfeyrac is completely undeterred, doesn’t even flutter an eyelash as he continues, “We’re going to make a video of all the things people miss about you the most,” he says, beaming, “Mine, of course, is how manly I look stood next to you.  Nah, just fucking with you. I miss how focused and serious you are, all the time, those little _ideas_ you get sometimes that inevitably lead to us being thrown in the cells for another night - _not_ that I blame you for that last time, of course, though you still owe me for your bail. Also, I love how you don’t mind when I throw spontaneous parties at your flat.”  Enjolras minds that, he minds that a _lot_.  “But mostly I just miss the triumvirate. Doubles suck, man.”

It’s probably the worst attempt he’s ever heard at telling him why he’s  missed, but over the past thirteen years he’s become very fluent in Courfeyrac and his little nuances and he knows really, buried under there, under all the bravado and teasing, is a genuine ache that mirrors the one in his own chest.

“Well, that’s enough from me,” announces Courfeyrac and the video cuts suddenly to [Jehan sitting in a stairwell](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m1b0olK51g1r99f4t.gif) somewhere, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. Sunlight pours in through the window behind him, but Enjolras has no idea if this was filmed the same day or later.

“My favourite thing about Enjolras?” he asks, laughing nervously and looking away. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he thinks. “I don’t know. His passion? There are few people who are as invested in something as he is, who are confident enough to display that passion in front of others. Most people are worried about opening themselves up in case they face ridicule, but not with him. It’s beautiful, inspiring. He has the kind of presence you want to write about.”

Enjolras is oddly touched, but doesn’t have time to think too much about it as suddenly the video cuts to a dark gym somewhere.

“Enjolras?” [Bahorel asks](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m88xbaF7Aa1qhayed.gif), out of breath and panting, “Kind of busy here, Courf.”

To demonstrate, he slams the guy he’s sparring down onto the ground suddenly, drops over him and presses his knee to his back, pulling his arm into a position that makes Enjolras wince. Bahorel takes the brief respite to look thoughtful, then grins and says, “He doesn’t take shit from anyone, and he’s not just full of hot air. He’s willing to fight for what he believes in. Even if he has the looks and strength of a seventeen-year-old girl.”

Enjolras doesn’t know whether to be offended or not, then the guy underneath Bahorel gets a leg twisted around his and Bahorel goes crashing to the floor with a surprised yelp. The camera shakes violently as Courfeyrac stumbles back to safety, then the picture cuts abruptly to a hospital waiting room. Enjolras has a brief flash of panic, thinking that Bahorel or Courfeyrac have been hospitalised, then relaxes when Joly comes into view, looking [perpetually worried](http://24.media.tumblr.com/bb57d5e2a8054e2280b15dad20c9c642/tumblr_mikzqaLNi91qzoj6xo9_250.gif). “You’re not supposed to be here,” he says to the camera, glancing around anxiously. “I’m on call right now. If I’m caught filming with you--” he cuts off when there’s a shout from down one of the halls.

“Hey-” says Courfeyrac, trying to get his attention, “Just one sentence, what do you miss about-”

But it’s too late, Joly has darted off, leaving Courfeyrac pouting at the camera screen like a kicked puppy.  After a long face-shot that is no doubt there just to appeal to his vanity, the video switches to Éponine, who just stares at the screen, unimpressed. She’s taking a drag on a cigarette outside somewhere on the university campus, tendrils of smoke twisting into the air above her head. When Courfeyrac asks what she thinks of Enjolras, she just stares at the camera, expression unchanging, and flicks ash onto the floor.  When it becomes obvious that Courfeyrac is waiting for an answer and won’t go away until she gives him one, she rolls her eyes and offers, “He’s blond.”

Courfeyrac throws his hands into the air and nearly drops the camera. “ _Éponine_ ,” he whines, “That’s not an answer. Is there nothing you want to say to him?”

“Not particularly.”

“Not even a wave? You are cruel. Cruel and cold-hearted.”

Éponine [gives him a thumbs up](http://24.media.tumblr.com/1729e3c5b2c064e17a5972bf4f1f2c80/tumblr_ml8jzb8YBM1snlyh0o1_400.gif) and purses her lips mockingly. There’s a shout from off-screen that catches her attention and she turns her head, stubbing her cigarette out on the wall then leaving without another word. Courfeyrac gives up on his quest to get a video of dedications to Enjolras after that.

“Why would you need any others, anyway?” he asks, “Mine’s all that matters.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes.

\- - -

“Alright, let’s see how this works,” Grantaire’s voice opens his videolog, sounding rough and warm, sparking to mind images of cigarette flames lighting in the dark. The camera is pointing at something blurred and unfocused at first, and it’s too close to work out what it is. Finally, the angle changes and the camera is pulling back to reveal an art studio, empty aside from a few canvases, paint supplies and Grantaire.

“I know Jehan sent you a video of all the best places in Paris," Grantaire continues, "but that was a romantic view, and I know you’ve missed my particular brand of cynicism. So I reveal to you, the real Paris.”  As he’s speaking, the camera moves through the studio and out into the streets of Paris at night.

He takes him on a tour of his favourite spots, and this is how Enjolras learns that Grantaire can not only paint, but he can dance and box, that he knows Paris like the back of his hand and can tell you the best place for anything, should you wish to wander off the beaten track. He discovers that he knows various street performers and vendors by name and that he has no qualms about facing the brutal reality of their city. Whilst Jehan's video showed the softer side of Paris, seen through a golden haze that made everything beautiful, Grantaire's strips it all away, showing the jagged edges and the sharp truths hidden just under the surface. And yet, like Grantaire himself, there's still something beautiful about it. It's the beauty that comes with hardship, each battle scar a story just waiting to unfold.

It makes him wonder what Grantaire's story is, under the broken nose and the tattoos, wants to know what has shaped him into the cynic they all know. His fingers curve on the edge of his laptop as he thinks about tracing scars, discovering secrets.

\- - -

He meets Musichetta at the exact same time Joly and Bossuet do; they're having an idle conversation over the camera as they walk through the park when someone in the distance shouts. There's a rush of air, a thud and then the camera is dropped suddenly. Enjolras feels the sickness of vertigo as colours blur across the screen before settling into the image of a passed-out Bossuet, lying back on the grass. Leaning over him (at least, Enjolras hopes she is - the camera is currently upside down) is an African girl, her hair pulled into neatly coiled braids that fall over her shoulders as she leans forwards. He can hear Joly hyperventilating somewhere off-screen, demanding, "Is he dead?"

The girl doesn't even bother to look up at him, just gets a determined look in her eyes and pinches Bossuet's nose and kisses him -- because it is definitely a kiss and not a life-saving act, as Enjolras learned CPR on a training day before leaving and that is mostly definitely not a medical manoeuver. Bossuet's eyes flutter and then he's staring up at this girl (or rather down, on Enjolras's screen) as he croaks, "What?"

"You took a football to the face," the girl says, "It was rather impressive."

"Thanks," replies Bossuet, still sounding dazed. "Did you kiss me?"

"Yes," says a rather strangled Joly. "That wasn’t CPR," he accuses the girl.

"Well of course not," she replies, "He wasn't dead. I just saw my opportunity and I went for it. Guys do it in fairy tales all the time."

"I think I'm in love," says Bossuet.

The camera cuts off a few seconds after that, when the girl finally spots it and Joly rushes to turn it off. The next time Enjolras sees the two of them in a video, the African girl is sat between them at a table in the Musain and they both look completely and utterly enamoured.

(He discovers her name later when he sees her thoroughly trounce Courfeyrac at pool, causing his best friend to drop to his knees in front of her, pleading, "Oh great Musichetta, have mercy!")

\- - -

Cosette appears in the videos suddenly, everyone neglecting to mention who she is, though it’s obvious she's got some sort of thing going on with Marius. Enjolras frowns and sighs out a long breath through his nose when Marius forgets what he's saying and just stares at her for the third video in a row, and wishes he could reach through the screen to hit him over the head and knock some sense into him.

It's Grantaire who finally reveals who she is, during a video that isn’t even his. He's handed the camera when Bahorel goes off to get another round of drinks, and he uses it to zoom in on everyone, narrating it all as if he were David Attenborough: "The Musain is one of the most highly-populated Watering Holes in Paris, and is home to many different species. In the distance you may just be able to see Jehan, genus Prouvaris. A timid creature, he attracts others to him with soft-spoken words and poetry - but do not be deceived, for under that harmless façade is a rather mean right-hook." Grantaire speaks with the voice of someone who knows from first hand experience, and Enjolras is surprised; he had never taken Jehan for a fighter. The camera moves then on to Courfeyrac, who is talking to a girl at the bar, leaning against it with his charm out in full force, dimples and all.

"And here we see the mating call of the Courfeyracius, who lures in unsuspecting prey with charming smiles and awful jokes. The Mariuslous Pontmercia, whilst sharing the territory of the Courfeyracius, has yet to perfect this technique. His own attempts at mating with the Cosette Fauchelevent, whilst eager and adorably sincere, have so far yielded no results. This disastrous mating call has since come to be affectionately known as pontmercying."

He flips the camera around suddenly and Enjolras finds himself looking straight at Grantaire and his too-blue eyes, which shine with alcohol and amusement, mischief curling his lips. "So, what do you think, Apollo? What would your mating call be?"

Enjolras, thousands of miles away in a rundown shack in Cambodia, splutters.

"Ah, that's right," says Grantaire, "You are not one for idle flights of fancy. No superfluous emotions, correct?" There's something sad and infinitely delicate in the way he says it, then his gaze flickers off-screen for a second, before returning, sharper, and he’s grinning again. “Though I suppose you can be forgiven for not wanting to make a prat out of yourself like Pontmercy.”

Before he can even begin to think of how to reply to that the camera is being handed back to Bahorel, who informs him that, as much as he thinks he's a great bloke, he's not prepared to carry a video camera around with him all night just so Enjolras can see what they're up to. He signs off the video with a quick pan of the room, giving everyone chance to wave at him, and the last image is of Grantaire giving him a mock salute.

So the girl’s name is Cosette, Enjolras thinks. He hopes Marius’s infatuation runs its course and fizzles out soon, he has no time for romantic distracts. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are bad enough, sending him joint videos which are mostly just made up of the two guys fawning over her whilst she pats their heads affectionately, occasionally interspersed with stories from the latest rally.

Relationships, Enjolras decides, turn people into idiots.

\- - -

Éponine, when her video starts, is frowning. She huffs out a breath and says, “I don’t know why I’m doing this. We don’t even know each other that well? But, you know, whatever. Anything to get Courfeyrac to shut up."

Éponine starts leaving the video camera running when she's at work in a coffee shop a few streets over from the Musain, letting him catch a slice of life that softens the sharp edges of his homesickness. Feuilly is a regular, stopping by early each morning for a chat and an espresso, and Jehan shows up frequently, sitting at whatever table gives him a best view out of the window onto the street and orders a different drink each time, which he contemplates thoughtfully then never orders again, though he’s happy to recommend them to his friends.

Courfeyrac never fails to make an entrance, draping himself across the counter with a roguish grin and a witty comment, and he somehow, without fail, manages to leave with the phone number of the best looking person in the room, be they staff or customer.

Grantaire stops by with alarming regularity when Enjolras is almost 100% sure he has class, or studio, or whatever the art people call it. His fingers are usually stained with something - chalk, paint, ink - and he has a tendency towards looking exhausted, but he always, always has a smile for Éponine.  Enjolras pretends he doesn’t notice him spiking his coffee.

At one point even Combeferre show up on a video, sliding into a booth with Grantaire and Enjolras watches the light reflect off Combeferre’s glasses as he looks over the sketches Grantaire has just handed to him. The artist is blushing and looking down at his coffee and Enjolras finds himself wanting to see what the pictures are that give such a quiet pride to the set of Grantaire's shoulders, hear what Combeferre is saying to make him smile just so.

It turns out all of the Amis show up to the cafe at some point or another, and Enjolras feels faintly guilty for always just thinking of Éponine just as ‘that girl who follows Marius around’. It turns out she has her own reasons for being part of their group and he resolves to think better of her, in future.

\- - -

To everyone's amusement, it is Cosette who makes the first move on Marius, a story that is gleefully retold by Courfeyrac in one of his logs. Enjolras just rolls his eyes and focuses on the report he's simultaneously writing about their latest project. When he glances at the screen again everyone's ended up listening to Courfeyrac's story, even though most of them must have been present for the events.

Courfeyrac has a way with words, it seems, able to turn a five minute story into a tale that lasts half an hour, with enough mystery and intrigue that everyone ends up hooked, laughing and sympathising at all the right points.

Everyone apart from Éponine that is, who spends the whole story scratching her nail over a groove in the table where she's sat.

\- - -

Only being able to watch and unable interject with his own opinions forces him into a spectator role. At first he resents it - his natural inclination has always been to talk, after all - but he slowly starts to realise just how important it can be to take a step back from things, sometimes. It gives him a new perspective on his friends, allows him to see things he usually wouldn't have picked up on.

He finds himself wondering if this is what Grantaire does, when he's sat at the back of the Musain, doodling in his sketchbook, quiet and musing until the wine loosens his tongue and he becomes more lively (rowdy, annoying, confrontational, _impossible_ ).

As the year goes on and he sees more videos, he begins to notice more things. He notes that Bahorel always has bruises on the third and fourth Sunday of every month, badges of honour from the bare-knuckle matches he takes part in. He sees the looks Éponine sends Marius when no one else is looking - and consequently the looks Marius sends at Cosette. Marius, who spends far too much time [playing with his hair](http://freckly-redmayne.tumblr.com/post/49708295043/eddie-redmayne-playing-with-his-hair), especially when he’s nervous, or around Cosette.

He discovers that Jehan is left-handed, the side of his hand always stained from ink, which rather than washing away, he turns into intricate murals, twisting them with words from whatever his favourite poem is of the moment. (A month later he finds out he’s actually ambidextrous, when he sees him swapping the straw he’s using as a sword easily from one hand to the other whilst duelling Bahorel one evening.)

It takes some time for him to puzzle out but he eventually realises that Grantaire fences, and that's what the strange equipment is he sees poking out if his bag every Tuesday. Not long after that, he catches on to the secret behind Combeferre's seeming inability to get drunk, as he replaces every second glass of whiskey with apple juice, and is equal parts impressed and unsettled that his best friend is so good at subterfuge.

He makes a mental note to see if there’s some similar tactic he uses to always win at Monopoly (which always gets dragged out every Christmas, even when Courfeyrac inevitably ends up shrieking, “But how do you even _win_ Monopoly?” and Combeferre smiles his secret smile).

\- - -

Christmas comes in the form of Courfeyrac wearing a santa hat.

Enjolras seriously considers face-planting his keyboard, but he’s in the middle of a crowded airport departure lounge, waiting for updates on a flight that’s already four hours delayed. There’s a steaming mug of coffee on the seat next to him and a badly-wrapped Christmas present he almost hadn’t been able to get through airport security.

It’s tradition for the Amis to meet up every Christmas Eve and swap presents, secret santa having been in place ever since their group expanded to the point where they’d all be bankrupted if they tried to buy presents for everyone. It’s actually the 27th December where he is but - semantics. He was busy, backpacking across southern Africa in an old bus that had definitely seen better days.

He watches as they open their presents, everyone getting the usual things with the usual pleased reactions. His own present, a medical book Combeferre needed, is met with a pleased smile from his friend and a series of groans from the rest of the group at his predictability. Musichetta gets a pair of sunglasses, which Enjolras thinks is kind of a weak present, until she [puts them on](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me8lqyOY221qcuxmjo1_500.gif) and poses dramatically, and he thinks maybe not. Next, Feuilly gets a book of personalised poems from Jehan, and Enjolras is considering fast-forwarding through it all when he notices that it’s Éponine’s turn, and she’s looking at her present curiously. She pulls the ribbon away slowly and the paper unfolds to reveal something the camera angle doesn’t quite let him see. He doesn’t even know Éponine that well himself, but he can tell that whoever bought it hit the nail on the head.

Cosette smiles across the room at her, and when Éponine looks up to meet her eyes, there’s a faint smile on her face.  Something shifts in their relationship.

Eventually it’s Enjolras’s turn, and they all look to the camera obediently as he opens the awful wrapping on his present, sparkly and covered in glitter and clearly from Courfeyrac. It’s a small keyring that fits into the palm of his hand, containing a photograph from just before he left for his internship. It’s the whole group - minus the girls, though Courfeyrac has added another photograph of them on the reverse - smiling and grouped together at the Musain and he gets a punch of homesickness so sharp it leaves him breathless.

“Don’t roll your eyes like that,” Courfeyrac instructs, oblivious to the reactions he’s really having, the swell of emotions in his chest, “It’s _thoughtful_. Now you can carry us around with us wherever you go. There’s no escape! Also I transferred some money to your account - don’t look at me like that - so you can get yourself a decent meal at the next place you go. If you starve yourself ‘Ferre will never let me hear the end of it.”

The rest of the secret santa carries on after that but Enjolras is only half-listening, instead just looking at the keyring in his hand. It’s only when they finish with a cheer that he looks at the screen again, just in time to hear them all declare, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

“Merry Christmas,” he replies softly, and curls his fingers around the keyring.

\- - -

Grantaire’s next full video opens up on what seems to be a fire escape, the camera propped against the railings, giving Enjolras a side view of the cynic, who is sat on the floor with one leg drawn up to his chest.

It’s night time and the moon casts the hollows under his cheekbones into shadow, accentuating the bump in his nose from where it was broken. There’s an almost-full bottle of Jack Daniels next to him and the tattoos on his arms twist as he rolls a cigarette, his hands flecked with what looks like red paint.  “Hey, Apollo,” he says, without looking up, “How’s it going?”

 _Exhausting_ , Enjolras thinks. He’s pulling in thirteen-hour days at the moment, doing everything he can to get the current project finished, and whilst he’s trying to keep to Combeferre’s wish of getting regular sleep, sometimes it just isn’t possible. He's also starting to doubt the good of what he's doing. Coming out here, building houses, he'd thought he was doing  _good_ , had carefully researched before going with Habitats for Humanity, who built their homes in partnership with those disaffected - but _still_. It's hard not to notice how he's taking work away from the people who actually live here, or the overwhelming amount of white priviledge volunteers throw around. 

“Things aren’t the same without you around,” Grantaire says into the silence, “Oh, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are doing a great job and everything, and the meetings are still happening and we’re still fighting injustice and all that - but without you it’s just - you - _fuck—_ ”

The camera jars, the picture fuzzing out for a second before kicking back in. Grantaire’s looking at the screen now, half-smiling as he says, “Let’s just forget that last bit.” The bottle of whiskey next to him is now nearing half-full.  “So, tell me about what you’re doing,” he says, “I know you love talking. I even promise not to interject. Best behaviour.”  He presses a hand to his chest and falls silent, the end of his cigarette flaring orange in the dark for a beat, two.

Enjolras wonders if he’s supposed to talk, knowing Grantaire won’t be able to hear him. He wonders why he would even want to hear him talk, as he seems to enjoy ripping his arguments apart when he’s actually there.  Maybe that’s it, he thinks, this way Grantaire doesn’t have to listen to him speak, so they can’t argue. It’s certainly the most civil they’ve been in his memory, even if they are on completely different continents.

So he ends up telling him about everything, the project they’re currently working on and what they’re going to do next. Talks about how he loves what he’s doing, waking up every morning with a purpose and a goal, but also how it feels like an uphill struggle, because no matter how much change he effects, it’s never enough. He can rally against injustice and break as many chains as is humanly possible, but there’s always going to be suffering, somewhere.

It would turn anyone into a cynic.

Grantaire’s quiet for a long while, not saying anything, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the railing before he speaks again. “So Joly nearly had a heart-attack last week when Courf sneezed in the middle of a meeting. You should have seen his face—” he carries on like this, rambling from one point to another, unrelated anecdotes that all add up to a big picture of his friends when he’s not there, taking Enjolras away from the hardships and the exhaustion of the last few hours of work.

Eventually Grantaire runs out of things to say and comes to an end, sighing and stubbing his latest cigarette out on the railings. The bottle of Jack Daniels is empty now, and he taps his fingers against the label, thoughtful, before finally turning to look directly at the camera for the first time that evening.

“I fucking miss you, yeah?” he says, and in the darkness his eyes are blue-black, like a bruise. “So come back soon.”

The screen goes black and Enjolras lies awake for a long time, wondering.

\- - -

Like his first one, Combeferre's video logs keep to facts and information, supplying Enjolras with all the things he wants to know about the club in his absence, their current plans, when the next rally will be, the response of other members. Combeferre's videos supply an absence none of the others can fill, and Enjolras looks forwards to them the most. Not only because of the information, but because when Combeferre is talking, it feels like they're having a real conversation. Enjolras can answer his questions and counter his points weeks after the video was filmed, in airport waiting lounges and third-world countries, and Combeferre will answer those very points and talk back as if they're in the same room.

It's a unique skill, Enjolras knows, and it makes him unprecedentedly happy to have met Combeferre. Not everyone could have a conversation with someone without them being in the room, be so attuned to their beliefs and behaviours to be able to predict their arguments and answer with confidence. The only time these videos are any better are when Courfeyrac's there also, adding another opinion or insight that neither of them thought of.

As he wanders through his flat, the camera reveals Grantaire asleep on the sofa. Enjolras makes a noise as if he’s going to say something, then remembers that this is pre-recorded and it won’t be heard. Combeferre seems to anticipate his question, because then Enjolras hears him explaining, “Courfeyrac had a party last night to celebrate Bahorel not getting kicked out of law school... Again. Bossuet and Grantaire declared war and called it ‘A Game of Shots’, I believe, so he’s feeling a little bit worse for wear today."

Grantaire stirs on the couch, cracking an eye open to see what the disturbance is. He catches sight of the camera and groans, “Fuck off.”  Then buries his face into the arm of the chair again, snuggling down.  As he passes, Combeferre pulls the blanket up to his chin.

\- - -

He sees Cosette and Éponine's relationship develop in stages after Christmas, catches glimpses of them in the background of videos and in snippets of conversations he overhears. He sees the moment Éponine first laughs at one of Cosette's jokes and the surprised look on both of their expressions. The tentative truce they declare when teaming up to get revenge on Bossuet for some slight that wasn’t filmed, then gossiping with Musichetta at the back of the Musain during a meeting. When Éponine stops thinking of her in terms of Marius, it becomes obvious the two have a lot in common, and a friendship starts to form.

He thinks this is a good thing, right up until the two of them film and send him a vlog together and announce, "We're going shopping!"

Enjolras does not give two fucks about shopping.

He's about to close the video and delete it when Grantaire appears, slouching against the doorframe and spinning a set of car keys around his index finger. "Remind me again why I agreed to this," he says, looking pained.

"Because otherwise we'll send Enjolras that video of you—"

"Alright, alright," he cuts across them suddenly, "I remember. You two are pure evil, you know that, right?"

"I retract my earlier statement," he corrects himself later, when the camera switches to the scene of a changing room. " _You_ are pure evil."

"Shut up and get your arse out here," Musichetta says from behind the camera, and with a little grumping and muttering, the changing room curtain is thrown open to reveal Grantaire. Enjolras has half a second to wonder how the girls got into the male changing rooms before his mind short circuits and goes completely blank.

Because Grantaire, who lives in old worn clothes and battered jeans, who stuffs his hair under a beanie most of the time and has a collection of aged and fraying festival bands around his left wrist - is wearing a suit.

The sound on the video goes completely silent and for a few seconds Enjolras thinks it’s frozen. He moves his hand to the mouse pad, ready to close it, when Grantaire moves, his mobile mouth pulling down at the corners as he frowns. "Is it that bad?"

He turns to look at himself in the mirror, affording the camera a view of his back. The jacket pulls tight over his shoulders from the muscles he's gained from boxing, tapering down into his waist then his arse which, well, fits perfectly into the trousers. The back of Enjolras's throat has gone dry.

He closes out of the window and shuts the laptop slowly, hands hovering over the case as he stares across the room. The pulse point in his neck jumps as he tries to clear his throat, and he thinks _that was weird_.

\- - -

“Today we are taking you to Disneyland!” Courfeyrac announces, “Seeing as you're not here to complain about rampant commercialism and capitalist tourist traps!"

Over to the left of the screen he hears Grantaire laughing softly from where he walks next to Combeferre, and he catches a glimpse of his hand as the camera turns towards him when he lifts a cigarette to his lips. Courfeyrac has a plan, it seems, he has maps and diagrams and has worked out exactly the best route for them to take to get 'maximum happy times'. It's all very admirable and Enjolras is actually impressed, but that doesn't stop it from all going to hell two seconds after they step into the park when Marius reveals he has a fear of heights and Bahorel goes charging off to Thunder Mountain.

From that point on he's treated to a series of different clips, some only lasting a few seconds, but each one drawing a reluctant smile out of him.

Grantaire and Bossuet getting way too into the Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast, firing at each other instead of the targets whilst Joly looks on, despairing.  Courfeyrac charming the girl who manages the Space Mountain queue so they get fast-tracked. Bahorel declaring ‘that is the creepiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen’, looking shell-shocked as he comes out of the It’s a small world ride. Feuilly procuring a little china doll from somewhere and using it to scare the shit out of him whenever he’s least expecting it. Marius being used as the designated parent, everyone dumping their bags on him when they run off to go on a ride.

At one point the video skips to the whole group at the game stalls, where Cosette showcases a terrifying skill with a gun, winning a giant teddybear the size of Gavroche. When everyone just stares at her afterwards, she just shrugs and explains, "My father." Which makes Marius blanch and Bahorel roar with laughter, hitting him on the back so hard the smaller boy stumbles.

Enjolras makes a mental note never to get on her wrong side.

He tries not to disapprove when he catches a glimpse of Grantaire swigging from a water bottle that most definitely does not contain water, but there's nothing he can do about it. Disneyland Paris allows alcohol, afterall. He tries not to frown when Combeferre wins a tacky key-chain of Mulan and gives it to Éponine, who looks surprised that anyone even noticed she was there. The money he spent on the game was probably about three-times the charm’s worth, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the look she gives him, nervously sweet as she hooks it onto her keys.

Enjolras knows he should be moved by Éponine’s smile in this clip - god knows she’s done nothing but glare since Cosette and Marius got together - but his gaze catches instead on Grantaire, who’s watching the exchange with a fond smile.

It comes to light Jehan doesn’t like candyfloss (“How can you not like candyfloss? It is made of rainbows and happiness!” Courfeyrac demands, looking like Christmas was cancelled) and Feuilly gets brain-freeze from one too many ice creams. Marius is convinced to go on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, where he manages to turn an interesting shade of puce.

Eventually they all pile into cars on their way back, tired and exhausted but with a buzzing sort of energy that only comes from a day well-spent, elation clear in all of their expressions. Courfeyrac bundles the camera into the car Combeferre’s driving, where Feuilly, Jehan and Grantaire are passed out in the backseat. When Combeferre tries to say something, Courfeyrac shushes him impatiently, whispering, “The children are sleeping.”

Enjolras supposes Disneyland isn’t _that_ bad, though he’ll never admit it to anyone. Courfeyrac would never let him live it down. 

\- - -

One of his favourite videos so far is when Éponine’s little brother Gavroche steals the camera. He films himself making a daring escape from his sister’s flat, all narrated to the sound of the _Mission: Impossible_ theme tune, which he hums under his breath. Turns out Gavroche knows just as much of, if not more, than Grantaire about the streets of Paris. This is a boy who has grown up on rooftops and fire escapes, falling into and clambering out of trouble as easily as breathing.

He reminds Enjolras of everything pure and good about the world, the reasons he is out here building habitats. He wants to make a difference to the world so that every child has the experiences of Gavroche, the chance for brilliance in a world they make entirely their own.

\- - -

The moment Enjolras Realises with a capital R (which is ironic, thinking back on it), it’s during one of Courfeyrac’s videos, this time in a cafe he's never seen before (but desperately hopes isn't Starbucks - really, it's like as soon as he left, his friends forgot everything they believed in). Courfeyrac is narrating everything as usual, happy to take centre stage until he spots a cute looking waitress across the room.

“Here, ‘Ferre, take this for a second,” Courfeyrac says, and the screen goes blurry as the video camera is handed across the table from person to person before righting itself again. As Courfeyrac tries to charm the server into giving them free cake, Combeferre rotates the camera slowly to show everyone at the table.  Eponine and Cosette are in a deep conversation and ignoring everyone else, despite the fact Marius is sat between them.  He sends the camera a pleading look but Combeferre just moves on past them to Bahorel, who salutes then Feuilly and Jehan, who wave.  Eventually the camera comes back full circle, stopping at the last person in the group.

Grantaire is sitting with his elbows on the table, biting at one of his nails. As the camera focuses [his eyes slide across to look at him](http://31.media.tumblr.com/cfa134668d38fffb679b62d9524a09c0/tumblr_mip912FgGV1r7cvb5o1_250.gif) and Enjolras takes in a breath. Because this is - he's not sure what this is, but it's the same feeling as the clothes shopping video. He wants to make Grantaire look at him like that properly, without the video camera between them.

Fuck.

\- - -

Gavroche’s next video (which he gleefully titles ‘Gavroche After Dark’) starts up in the Musain, but it's the Musain as he's never seen it before, from the view of Gavroche, who is hiding under the tables. This is one of the late-night meetings he's not allowed to, the ones that Éponine expressly forbids him from attending, as they usually devolve into drinking.

Gavroche is not deterred, of course, so Enjolras is treated to a video of all of his friend’s legs and feet. He remembers his father's words from years ago, that you can always judge a person based on their shoes. He had intended it to be a standard reinforcement; look this way, act this way, be this way, and you will be accepted into the world, but Enjolras has never understood why polished, perfect shoes were a good indication of someone's personality. You can tell a lot more from what he sees in that video.

Jehan’s converse are battered and old, but he’s threaded them through with new, bright laces, and inked patterns into the fabric. Bahorel wears doc martens, big and dark and imposing. Feuilly’s shoes are worn, but obviously well-loved, treated to the same care and attention with which he shows everything else in his life. Cosette’s legs swing daintily from her chair and she wears cream lace shoes, seemingly harmless till you see the four-inch pointed heel that could very easily be used as a murder weapon. There’s hand-holding, too, making Enjolras despair, as meetings are for serious business, but that doesn’t seem to deter anyone. There are two delicate ones twined together, a guy and girl he assumes to be Marius and Cosette. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are easy to spot, chocolate on coffee on milk.

There’s one other pair he can’t quite work out, coming together in brief spurts, fingers brushing then moving away again, as if unsure if they’re wanted or how close to get.

\- - -

Cosette and Marius are far too sweet.  Enjolras rolls his eyes and focuses on reading the current schedule he has for the next set of schools they're building, this time in Nepal, glancing at the screen occasionally to see the two lovebirds leaning together and holding hands as they talk.

He’s not sure why they bothered to send him a video, because not soon after they’re [teasing](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mes3epnHsc1r99f4t.gif) and [shoving](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mes3evPjYo1r99f4t.gif) each other and he lets out an exasperated sigh through his nose. If he and Grantaire were to film something like that, they wouldn’t be anywhere near as sickeningly--

Fucking hell. Was he just comparing himself and Grantaire to _Marius and Cosette_? He slams the screen of his laptop closed abruptly, fighting the rising panic at the back of his throat. This was not normal. It was a side-effect of the lack of sleep, it had to be. He couldn’t possibly _like_ Grantaire, could he?

The man was insufferable. He was contrary. He argued for the sake of arguing and filmed himself on fire escapes, giving Enjolras time to just rant and get everything off his chest. He looked at the camera with bright-blue eyes and smiled a secretive smile that more often than not Enjolras found himself returning, when they both thought someone was being overdramatic. His voice was rough and his hands were callused and Enjolras always looked forwards to both, when watching his videos.

Oh bloody hell.

\- - -

“I got Combeferre drunk!” Courfeyrac declares excitedly one hellishly hot day in March. Enjolras is sweating himself to death in Malawi, wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts, his overheated brain wondering how long it’s going to be before his laptop spontaneously combusts.

He started playing the next video as a distraction, anything to stop him thinking about water, and it certainly accomplishes that, as Courfeyrac twists the camera around to show a [badly](http://31.media.tumblr.com/1cafb2aacffbfc3c860532b081d1800a/tumblr_mlo85bBuce1qf8r8uo1_500.gif) [dancing](http://31.media.tumblr.com/59f09308f6c47148da3455e9467e1926/tumblr_mlo85bBuce1qf8r8uo2_250.gif) Combeferre.

“Oh my god,” says Enjolras.

“I’m going to make copies!” Courfeyrac declares gleefully, “I’ll play it at his wedding! This is the _best thing that has ever happened_.”

\- - -

“This is the _worst thing that has ever happened_ ,” Courfeyrac groans, as he curls up around a toilet in Feuilly and Bahorel’s flat, looking absolutely wrecked. It transpires they’d gone out drinking the night before and Courfeyrac had seriously misjudged his alcohol tolerance - or at least, that’s what everyone believes.

A niggly little thought at the back of Enjolras’s mind reminds him of Combeferre switching his own drinks and he wonders if he caught wind of the video of him dancing.

Courfeyrac miserably hugging a toilet is the second in a long series of embarrassing videos he gets emailed throughout the months of April and May and really, he’s just surprised his friends only now thought to catch videos of each other in compromising and awkward positions.

Bahorel is caught letting Jehan paint his nails, Feuilly sings Taylor Swift in the shower. Éponine cries during High School Musical. Marius is shit-scared of small dogs, especially Shih Tzus.  Bossuet is trying to learn how to ballroom dance, which goes about as well as everyone expected, and Joly talks in his sleep, spilling secrets and embarrassing stories from his childhood.

The only one they can’t seem to catch out is Jehan, who wears his heart on his sleeve on a daily basis and always has. He’s so honest and open about everything that literally nothing embarrasses him, and it’s actually impossible to make him blush, no matter how hard the rest of the Amis try.

\- - -

The last video he receives from Grantaire takes place on the fire escape, like all the others, but it is different, this time, because Enjolras _knows_.

It hadn’t come to him in a flash of light or hit him like a ton of bricks or any of the clichéd metaphors people like to talk about. It had been a slow, dawning thing, creeping up and him and burrowing under his skin, unfurling slowly when he’d seen the video of Grantaire smiling in the café and everything had just slotted into place.

He’s never really felt like he’s been missing something before, but there’s just something Grantaire gives, a particular challenge, a push that no one else can replicate. So when the video loads up and he sees Grantaire’s face he says, “I like you,” to his screen, testing the words, breathing them into life, tasting them.

Too bad he can’t hear them.

“This has been the strangest year,” Grantaire says, shaking his head, his lips curved wryly as he glances away. There’s no bottle of Jack Daniels next to him this time, though his fingers are already rolling a cigarette. “Guess you just... don’t realise the extent of things, sometimes.”

He’s being vague, but Enjolras knows exactly what he means and his eyes drop, unbidden, to the twisting tattoos crawling up Grantaire’s arms. He’s annoyed, suddenly, when he realises he has no idea what any of them are, or why he has them. Why has he never asked? It seems important, something he should have asked a long time ago. Maybe then he would have realised sooner, and not when he was on a completely different continent.

“Maybe sometimes a break is a good thing,” Grantaire continues, “To see things differently. Or to get some perspective and realise exactly... Ah, never mind.” He shakes his head and then his eyes are on the camera again, cobalt in the half-light and bright. No one should have eyes that colour, Enjolras thinks, this is the _worst_.

“Without you here I’ve had to make up my own arguments,” he says, “Which is nowhere near as fun, let me tell you. But I should probably be glad you aren’t here right now to tell me how stupid I’ve been, or how oblivious and stubborn. Some things are just right there, no matter how hard you try and rail against them.  God, just think of all the time we’ve _wasted_.”

He shakes his head, and the cigarette is finished in two more quick drags.  “Screw it,” he says, “Time for another tour of Paris. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows someone who once dated this girl who--” he carries on in this way for a while before it eventually transpires that he knows an unguarded entrance into the catacombs, and the rest of his video is a tour that leaves Enjolras thinking of shadows and words murmured in the dark, secrets and what lies beneath, just under the surface.

The way everything can change when you see something differently, for the first time.

\- - -

A week before he heads home, they send him a vlog of a film night they're having at Marius and Courfeyrac's place which, whilst not the biggest, has the best collection of DVDs, even if they spend the first ten minutes of the video arguing over what to watch.

The final image is of his friends piled up on the sofas and the floors, curled around each other and sleeping. Courfeyrac is draped unceremoniously all over Combeferre, who looks soft and young without his glasses and doesn't seem the least bit put out by his human blanket. He's resting with his head to the side on a pillow, his hair tangling with Grantaire's, who is asleep next to him, one hand curled on the sofa in the space between them, his little finger just brushing Combeferre's hip. His other hand rests on Jehan's side, the smaller boy asleep with his head resting on a pillow on Grantaire's lap. Gavroche sits at their feet, his mouth wide open and limbs thrown wide, his knee hooked over Combeferre's in what should to all intents and purposes be a really uncomfortable position but doesn't seem to bother him. Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet are all curled around each other on the armchair, and it's impossible to see where one of them starts and another begins. Cosette and Eponine are curled together on the other sofa, Marius relegated to the floor where he sleeps with his head propped up on Bahorel's shoulder, one hand entwined with Cosette's. Feuilly is at the other end of the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

Enjolras freezes the video there and just looks at them all, warmth blooming in his chest as he takes in all their little idiosyncrasies, the way they lean together and support each other, even when sleeping.

It's time to go home.

\- - -

When Enjolras finally arrives in Le Bourget, he’s exhausted. He’s been flying for twelve hours on the cheapest flight he could find back out of Ho Chi Minh.  Walking on solid ground again feels funny and he takes a few moments to acclimatise himself, just watching the hundreds of people bustling around.

Courfeyrac meets him in arrivals, and Enjolras can tell he’s been looking forwards to this since the day he left. He’s come decked out for the occasion in a black suit and tie, with a chauffeur’s hat and wraparound sunglasses, holding a huge card with the words ‘Enjolras - Leader of the Free World’ on in in black marker.  People are giving him strange looks and he’s reveling in the attention, so much so that he doesn’t even notice Enjolras at first, is too busy charming two English girls with a made-up story about how he’s here on a secret mission.

It feels really fucking good to see him.

Enjolras rolls his eyes and then, stepping up behind him, coughs delicately. Courfeyrac jumps and the two girls are forgotten entirely as he whirls around on the spot to look at him.  For a second they just look each other over and then Enjolras is being pulled, bodily, into a bear hug, the air crushed out of his lungs.

He’s smiling when he pulls away, doesn’t even mind when Courfeyrac starts checking him over for all sorts of bodily ailments, muttering things like ‘you’ve lost weight’ and ‘is this tan real?’ and ‘are you all still in one piece?’ until finally, satisfied with whatever it is he’s been looking for, he announces, “Okay, where do you want to go?”

The tiredness crawling behind his eyes asks for home but the warmth in the centre of his heart is louder and he finds himself saying, “The Musain.” The two are one in the same really, anyway.

Courfeyrac grins and brandishes the keys to his car, announcing, “Your chariot awaits!”

They talk about nothing and everything on the way over, trading stories about the time apart, and Enjolras tries to ignore the rising feeling of being nervous because they’re heading to the Musain and Grantaire will be there, and it’s eleven at night but his body thinks it’s four in the morning and if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s absolutely terrified.

Courfeyrac pulls up into a space a few roads over and then they walk into the Musain together, still talking.  They are sidetracked for a few minutes when Courfeyrac recognises a few girls they pass on the way and stops to ask them how their night is going, somehow ending up getting a number from another one in exchange for his chauffeur’s hat whilst Enjolras leans against the wall and just tries to remember how to breathe.

He’s usually fine when it comes to nerves and anxiety, able to narrow his focus down into something ice cool and sharp, but he’s never had to deal with a situation where he’s a veritable rookie, where he doesn’t have the comfort of years of study and preparation. There are so many variables and he can’t possibly control them all, this time.

Finally they are in the Musain and his eyes automatically seek out Grantaire in his usual spot at the back but he’s not there. Instead, he’s sitting a little closer to the front than usual, engaged in conversation with Joly, and if Enjolras doubted any of it, the twist in his chest that comes at seeing him in person tells him that this is real. He ignores the rest of the Amis, heading straight over to Grantaire’s table, his stride purposeful. No one else has noticed his arrival yet.

And then there’s movement in the corner of his eye. Another person is walking towards Grantaire, and this one is much closer to him.  As he watches, they get closer and closer to the table, and then they’re sliding into the seat next to Grantaire like it’s perfectly natural and something is screaming at the back of Enjolras’s mind, some terrible, loud white noise washing over everything.

Grantaire turns to look at the other person - Combeferre, his brain supplies unhelpfully - who leans in closer and brushes a curl back from Grantaire’s forehead, murmurs something softly that makes him smile

and

they kiss.

It’s not a friendly kiss, not the sort of thing Jehan occasionally bestows when someone is upset, or even the spontaneous passion of Courfeyrac’s occasional kisses. This is a kiss shared between two people who know each other well, the familiarity that comes with shared nights and hand holding and admissions of feelings.  It is a kiss between two people  who are in a perfectly happy relationship.

And all Enjolras can think is - oh.

 

(He’s been watching his friends on their videos for a year but his eyes have never really been open.

Until now.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry sorry sorry
> 
> I purposefully didn't put Combeferre/Grantaire in the relationships tags as I wanted the reader to experience the same surprise as Enjolras (at least - I hope), though there are several hints dropped throughout the story in that direction. The sequel, which takes place roughly 1 minute after the end of Stereoscopic, will be called [Retrouvailles](http://31.media.tumblr.com/1531653c86c5eb9eaa3bf9a32b86490c/tumblr_mq6qt2lBwn1su85gro1_500.gif) should I get around to writing it. 
> 
> There is a lovely piece of fanart for the end of the story [here](http://tell-themstories.tumblr.com/post/58827613024/kannibal-until-now-super-quick-sketch), and a [fanmix](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/62055401944/stereoscopicmix), which is also perfect in every way (albeit depressing).
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to find me on Tumblr (to say hi or yell at me for the end) you can find me [here](http://tell-themstories.tumblr.com/)


End file.
